


Not Even A God

by northsoutheastmess



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Author is a Technoblade Apologist (Video Blogging RPF), Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Dream is a bitch, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Platonic Relationships, Sad, Sad Ending, Sbi is a family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 16:54:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29210712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/northsoutheastmess/pseuds/northsoutheastmess
Summary: What if Dream did drive Tommy to suicide? What if he went through with it and lost his last life? How would Technoblade cope with the death of his baby brother?orAU Tommy actually dies and loses his last life, and Technoblade resolves to go after Dream and avenge his baby brother.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit & Technoblade, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade
Comments: 12
Kudos: 176





	Not Even A God

**Author's Note:**

> First work posted here! I took a while on this, so I hope you like it. Also TW for suicide obviously, since that's what happens in this AU to Tommy, and there is a lot of violence and blood and hurt with no comfort. Don't read if you're uncomfortable or badly affected by these.

Technoblade didn’t remember everything about getting the news. He just remembered everything going red. Tubbo and Niki crying. Quackity staring blankly at the body, the quietest and most hollow he’d ever been. Fundy with his head in his hands, Ghostbur floating next to him helplessly. And Phil, Phil sobbing with his youngest son’s head in his lap, the most broken Technoblade had ever seen him.

According to them, Tubbo himself had found him in the Nether, run to him as the sword had pierced through him. He’d heard Tommy’s last words.

“He just kept saying sorry,” Tubbo sobbed, clinging to his best friend’s hand desperately like that would wake him up. “He said he was sorry. That he—he didn’t want to die, and he kept pleading with me not to let him die, and I just had to sit there, as—as—” He burst into a fresh wave of tears. Niki rubbed his back, weeping silently.

The worst part was Technoblade could see it. In his mind’s eye, Tommy held by a crying Tubbo, whispering, _I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I don’t want to die, Tubbo, please don’t let me die, Tubbo, please—_

_**You should have saved him. You could’ve. Why didn’t you? WHY DIDN’T YOU SAVE HIM?** _

“Do you know why?” Phil managed, pursing his lips together.

Tubbo shook his head helplessly. All were silent.

“ _It was Dream_ ,” Ghostbur whispered, and they all looked up. “ _Dream. He—he hurt Tommy in exile. He was so sad without everyone. He missed you all, and you never visited_.” Fundy tried to say something, but Ghostbur continued, unable to stop now, “ _He wouldn’t tell me, but every time I came back, he looked worse. Bruises everywhere. He kept losing his stuff. I think Dream took it. And at night, he’d cry out for someone to stop, but I couldn’t hold him. I couldn’t hold—I couldn’t hold **my own baby brother**_ —” He let out a choking noise and went silent.

Technoblade had heard enough. Without another word, he turned around and in less than five minutes, he was already over a thousand blocks away. “DREAM!” he bellowed at the top of his lungs, sending every living creature in a two hundred block radius scrambling.

Techno wasn’t good with talking, or grieving, or feeling, but if there was one thing he was good with, it was fighting and killing. And God be damned if the admin of the server made it out alive after running into him.

Snow crunched under the soles of his boots as he walked, dampening his shoes, and frigid flurries of snow flew past him, stinging his bare face, but he couldn’t care less. The fire surging in his bones was fervid, and the blood boiling in his veins was incandescent. If sheer agony couldn’t motivate him, fury would. And fury would be more than enough.

The piglin hybrid’s burning glare was focused on the terrain ahead of him—taking in landmarks, calculating distance, determining locations—but the only thing he saw in his mind’s eye was Tommy’s blank dead stare, the pale, sickly to the young boy’s skin. Dark bags circled the underside of his eyes. His signature shirt was soaked through with scarlet blood. And only Philza could understand the boiling anger in his veins.

So when Techno had stiffened, when he’d spun around and started running, he’d heard Phil tell everyone to leave him alone. He’d heard his father tell everyone that Dream was as good as dead, and if anyone tried to stop him, they would be dead too. No one had tried.

Both of his brothers were dead, and justice had yet to be served. If not justice, Technoblade would be vengeance, and his vengeance was as sharp as the biting blade in his hand.

Finally Techno found him. The masked man stood in what was left of Tommy’s exile home, seemingly just observing the scattered remains. The few buildings were exploded. Rubble was everywhere. Various blocks of wool or wood were strewn across the landscape, and the only surviving structure was a glowing purple Nether portal.

Technoblade ate a golden apple. He tasted blood.

The voices in his head, which had been silenced when he heard the news and had grown to a shriek on his journey here, now rose to a violent cacophony. He fought to focus on the tall figure ahead of him, to block out their cries for blood and violence. This kill was not for them. This kill was for Tommy.

“Dream!” he roared, and the masked figure immediately spun around to see him, whipping out his axe in a flurry of movement. Technoblade only laughed as he drew closer, his netherite armor gleaming with enchantments in the sorrowful sun. When he was done with Dream, the man would be as scarlet as the red of his cape.

“Technoblade.” It was not a question. Dream was incredibly intelligent—Techno would give him that. He knew when he fled L’manberg that there was a chance the Blade would come after him, and he knew the only way out of this was a fight. He was clad in full netherite armor, and his inventory was probably stacked with golden apples and/or potions.

Thankfully, Technoblade was always prepared. And he had an advantage Dream didn’t—complete fucking focus on ripping him to pieces.

“You’re here to kill me, I’m assuming?” Dream guessed. Techno hated the casual tone of his voice.

 _Casual_ , he thought, his fingers curling into fists. They ached for a weapon to grasp. Oh, the sweet call of the leather hilt of his axe…

“No actually, I’m here to bring you back to L’manberg for a tea party,” Techno answered sarcastically, his usual wit bleeding into his anger for a second. “Tubbo’s gonna wear a dress.”

“Really?”

“ _No, you depraved fucker_ ,” Technoblade spat, and even if just for a second, Dream looked visibly caught off guard by his language, probably because Techno rarely cursed publicly, and if he did, it was never extreme. “I’m here because I’m gonna hurt you, and kill you, and tear you to pieces until not even God could put you back together. And by the time I’m done, you’ll be wishing you never touched my brother.”

“Is that really justified, Technoblade?”

The piglin hybrid laughed, cold and mirthless and hollow. “I’m not justice, Dream. I’m vengeance.”

He charged.

Right off the bat, Technoblade knew the fight wouldn’t be easy. This was Dream, after all—the man was a quick-thinker, a tactical genius, and one of the only people evenly matched against Techno in PVP. Still, Technoblade did have a few advantages.

First of all, he was a veteran. The tusked fighter had been training and fighting for years, and he’d learned to memorize people’s strategies and tactics in the span of seconds, which was one of the many things that made him so good at PVP. He also never went into a fight unprepared, and when Tubbo had called him into L’manberg, he’d fully expected to be ganged up on by five or more people, so he was stocked with what he needed. Lastly, Dream had caused his youngest brother to commit suicide, and if Techno cared about one thing, it was his family, and _no one messed with his fucking family_.

Even unprovoked, Technoblade was cold. Provoked, he was ruthless. And if you fucked up this badly, he was practically demonic.

His first swings were furious. He didn’t think he’d ever fought this hard before. Even Dream seemed surprised, quickly realizing the Blade was not letting up at all on him, proved once he swung so hard, the force of his axe literally pushed Dream’s shield out of the way and sliced his arm open.

Dream yelped. Techno didn’t care. He knew the danger of letting emotions control you in a fight, so he kept his head clear and relied on instinct. Reflex. Fighting was just as mental as physical. Dream was very good, but he wasn’t flawless. Where did he forget to block? What were his blind spots? Where did he feint? All of this absorbed and calculated into moves in milliseconds.

Fighting was also the one of the only times the voices were muted. He felt the humming in his brain, the crackling of their energy as they demanded blood, but they kept quiet for him to stab. Stab and slash. Stab and slash. Block and feint. Dodge. Turn. Sidestep. Intercept.

The two fought ardently—one for vengeance, one for his life. Both were incredibly skilled, blades flashing almost too fast to see. This was not training; this was not play. Mistakes would be fatal. Dream barely dodged the swipe of Techno’s blade, but his own axe glanced off the side of the hybrid’s chestplate, slicing a small patch of skin at his side. The pink-haired man clenched his teeth. He barely even noticed the pain as he swung back at Dream’s shield, splintering the wood.

_Blood for the blood god._

“I’ve got an axe, Dream,” he snarled, swinging at the retreating man, “ _and I’ll put it through your neck! I’ll put it through your neck, Dream!_ ”

Dream was slowly getting pushed backwards as Techno attacked him ferociously, slicing and jabbing and slashing, each time barely missing as the masked man dodged with narrow agility. He alternated between offense and defense like it was nothing, faster than sound, quicker than a blink.

There was a sudden crack as his axe swung and hit true, so hard that it splintered Dream’s shield, traveled up, and split his mask in half, revealing the man’s shocked face. A face that held fear.

Tan skin. Sharp jawline. Green eyes. Freckles. Fluffy blond hair.

 _Fluffy blond hair_.

For just a moment that stunned Techno. For just a minute he saw blond hair and thought of Tommy, but Tommy was pale skin and blue eyes and dead.

Tommy was dead.

Technoblade quickly pushed away the thought, but that moment of pause was just enough for Dream. Just enough that Techno dodged a blow too late, and Dream’s axe clipped his shoulder and sliced clean through his tied hair. His pink braid fell to the ground.

Technoblade growled.

Any trace of fear was gone, and Dream’s features were now just as blank as his mask had been—save for a fierce grimace, a sharp juxtaposition to his usual, almost sadistic smiley face. Technoblade’s shoulder stung, but the pain was numbed by his thirst for vengeance. Kill, kill, kill, the voices chanted, and his axe practically sang along as he sliced an arc through Dream’s chestplate. The green-eyed menace hissed in pain but didn’t flinch, sending his axe straight back toward Techno. He blocked the strike quickly, and Dream barely escaped with his fingers intact. They continued fighting.

“You shouldn’t have done this,” Dream growled. “You shouldn’t have come after me, Techno. You know Tommy deserved it!”

The pig-man didn’t bother answering. He knew Dream was only trying to bait him into talking, to distract him and get him off guard. If he could trip him up by talking about Tommy, he would gain an advantage, and Technoblade refused to give him one. Instead, he fought harder.

Those green eyes were wide now, those freckled cheeks flushed from the cold, and if not for the burning gaze and hard grimace on his face, Dream could look so much more innocent. Techno wondered what he looked like sleeping.

 _Focus_ , he told himself. Too often did he get distracted by something random and forget what he was doing. It was a good thing his body ran on autopilot, slashing and blocking out of instinct, or else he would’ve been dead. Who cared if Dream looked peaceful while he slept? The man had killed his baby brother. He was a monster.

That reminder spurred Techno into a renewed vigor, and he began to assail Dream with an onslaught of blows to his armor at top speeds. Dream blocked each blow with speed and grace, but he was clearly starting to wear out. Sweat was dripping off the blond man’s face, and his lips were twisted into a scowl. Techno wanted to scream at him that he didn’t get to frown. That this was what he deserved. This was what he got for killing his brother.

And finally, it worked.

A final crack signified the end of his shield, and Dream was done. He was a great fighter, but after mere minutes of being shieldless, the man was knocked to the ground, no match against an opponent so strong. He tried to scramble back, but Techno pinned him to the ground with his boot, pushing down on his chest, feeling the man’s ribs crunch beneath his weight. A cry of pain. He quickly switched to a sword and pressed it against Dream’s skin, tracing along the masked man’s veins. A sick sense of pleasure enveloped him as he twisted his sword into the man’s flesh, tearing through tendons and muscle, feeling the murderer writhe in pain beneath him, hearing him scream. _He would make him pay for what he did._

“Techno, Techno, come on,” the man begged desperately. “I’m sure we can work this out.”

“Any last words, Dream?” Technoblade asked, refusing to respond. The sword was at his neck, slowly pushing in.

“Techno, please—” He kicked him in the side, earning a sharp cry of pain. “Last. Words?” The piglin hissed the words like venom.

“Techno—”

“Dream—”

“ _You owe me a favor!_ ” the masked man yelled, and Techno stopped.

“And?” Technoblade asked. His tone was fire, his own fury singeing his own tongue. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“I’m cashing in my favor,” Dream gasped, relief on his face. Even bloodied and beaten, his casual sureness returned. _Your attempts are futile_ , it seemed to mock. _I always win._ In return, the voices screamed curses.

“Alright,” Technoblade said. “Fine. I’ll make it quick.”

He swung his sword. Dream didn’t even get a word out before his head was sliced clean off.

Technoblade stared at the bloody corpse with a numb sense of satisfaction. He’d killed Dream. Dream, the admin of the server, the god himself, was dead on the ground, broken and decapitated, ichor staining the white snow scarlet. His head had rolled to the side, green eyes wide and open, bloodshot and staring. His neck was just a stump, a bloodied stump oozing thick, dark liquid, and its acrid scent plagued Technoblade’s nose, but by now, he was numb to the gore. And as reality set in, that nothing, not even killing a god would bring Tommy back, the blood god finally fell to his knees and wept.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! This is just a oneshot, but I'm very proud of it. Hope you enjoyed. Please comment and give me feedback, and I'd greatly appreciate a kudos if you liked!


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